Therapeutic
by Abby the Band Nerd
Summary: Claire Pruitt has always been a good listener, but when Basile Giroux comes along and presents his problems in an unfriendly way, Claire finds herself in need of someone to listen to her for once. Contains spoilers for Wagon Wheels.


**_Warning! The following piece contains major spoilers for Wagon Wheels! If you read ahead, then you will be spoiling a very important piece of information in Wagon Wheels!_**

_Her mother was broke-poor again. During the eight years since Claire was born, her mother's finances had dwindled down to become little to nothing, leaving the woman and her child helpless and hopeless. Claire's mother's body had grown tired from being used by willing men to assist in paying off her debts, and she knew that she wasn't as young as she used to be. No man would want an old, overused whore. _

"So you're telling me you never made love to Justine?" she asked with her legs crossed under the long skirts of her dress, while her hands rested gently atop her knees. The blind man shook his head and scowled.

"No, we never made love, not once," Basile answered, and Claire gave a puzzled look, but knew that he couldn't see her.

"You'd never lain with the woman you had intended to marry?" she wondered aloud, and he smirked.

"You'd asked if we'd ever made love, to which I can answer no. We did have sex, but it was only fucking; there was no love involved in any of it," he responded, and Claire bit her lip. She was uncomfortable at his swearing

"I don't quite… enjoy hearing that word, Monsieur," she whispered, and Basile tensed up a bit.

"Do you mean sex? Or _fucking_," he replied, and she jumped a bit at his tone. Not knowing what to say, she took a quick gulp of air.

"That second word, Monsieur," she squeaked, and he shook his head, leaning back in his chair and wiping a hand down his face. His posture was relaxed; his feet were apart on the ground and his neck hit the back of his seat, while he let his arms fall to the sides of the arms of the chair.

"My apologies, Claire," he answered in a growl, and she remained quiet for a few moments. "I'm sure you're going to ask, so would you like to know?" he asked, and she cocked her head.

"Monsieur Giroux, I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," she responded quietly, a clear tone of puzzlement in her voice.

"You must be wondering why I stayed with Justine, if I didn't love her. You seem like the childish type who would have no idea why anyone would stay together without love," he spat in a harsh tone, causing Claire to squirm in her seat.

"I know why, Monsieur. Justine was wealthy, and you were a common carpenter. It's the same reason I work as Elizabeth's maid; because people love all the money they can get," she answered, and Basile sat back, stunned.

"I never thought you would have guessed that it was greed, Claire. You seem too innocent and ignorant, in a carefree way, to know that greed exists by forcing yourself to pretend to love someone," he replied, and Claire shut her eyes tight. Her stomach was starting to hurt.

_It was late in the evening, and the crisp chill of the night breeze was creeping in through the streets. Their dingy, worn down apartment was rapidly becoming more expensive, and the child's mother didn't know what to do. She'd sold herself for years on the streets that they walked; greedy men with lustful eyes would take her around a corner, away from Claire, and return with her. Both were disheveled; the man always left looking satisfied while the woman looked as if she were ill. Whichever man she was with that time would slip a few francs under the fabric over her breast, and leave. Lately, however, no men bothered to approach her. Her body, once youthful and voluptuous, was thin and frail. She shook at each breeze, and her lips and skin were going pale from age. Her hair was turning to thin strings, and she was constantly wheezing and ill. She was no longer beautiful, and had to find a substitute in the only place she could turn; her eight year old child._

"I may be many things of kind nature, but I am not ignorant. You think I've never known how it is to force love for someone?" she retorted sharply, the ferocity in her voice surprising even her. Basile shook his head.

"Honestly, I do not. I don't think you've ever experienced false love, Claire. You aren't bitter enough," he answered, and she bit down on her bottom lip, rolling it between her teeth to think.

"Monsieur Giroux," she started, and sighed to prepare herself to talk. "You don't know this, but my mother resorted to a busy whore to keep us supported. I didn't have a father growing up, and nobody would employ the mother of a bastard child," she explained, and Basile seemed to freeze. He had not expected her to reply in that way.

"That's… tragic, and I understand you got a perspective on faking… love, but did you experience it yourself?" he asked, and she felt a surge of fear pulse through her body.

_She was eight years old with ribbons in her hair and a smile on her face. She had no idea what her mother did, but she knew that she would be doing it soon. "Remember, sweetie, swallow it like you're drinking milk. Don't spit it out, don't complain, and don't cry; we won't get any money that way," her mother had told her, and sent Claire down the alley. The man waiting for her was younger than most of her mother's men; he was well dressed and well groomed, and couldn't have been a day over twenty years old. Claire had no idea what to do, and wanted so badly to scream for her mother when he'd forced her mouth open, only to shove himself inside of it. She gagged, and tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't expel the foul liquid from her mouth, nor did she let a single tear fall. He handed her mother twenty francs and left them both to stand on the streets. Claire didn't know what she'd done to deserve this. She didn't know that she didn't deserve it at all._

Her body was shaking, and she inhaled to keep her crying silent. He couldn't see her tears, and she was thankful for that. "Monsieur Giroux, my mother got old and lost her beauty. We didn't have money, and she needed it to keep us supported. I was eight, the first time. My mother sold me to a man once when I was merely _eight_ _years_ _old_. She was kind enough to only use my mouth; she wanted a virgin daughter. Please, don't doubt my traumas," she whispered, her body trembling with each word that further progressed her story. Basile's stomach turned. He felt incredibly out of line, having doubted that Claire knew what she was talking about.

"Claire…" he spoke softly, reaching out a hand to try and touch hers. She yanked her arm back, causing Basile's hand to brush against her knee, and then pull back quickly. "I'm so sorry, Mademoiselle. That breaks my heart, to know that she did something like that to you…" he was cut off by her clearing her throat.

"I'm not finished, Monsieur," she asserted. "That was the first of two times. There would have been more, hadn't she have died a few weeks after the second incident," she squeaked, trying to contain her tears. She knew she trusted Basile, for she'd started to trust him from their first meeting a few months ago. Claire was a maid, but she knew that she had the skillset for therapy; she could sit for hours and listen to somebody spill out their heart, and connect to everything with her strong empathetic personality. She found it especially easy to understand Basile, due to his brutal honesty and his often blunt and outright statements. Many times, Claire would find herself squirming in her seat at his foul language and crass statements, but she didn't mind. It had taken no longer than a week for Claire to lose her battle against the truth; she was captivated by Basile Giroux, and couldn't deny that.

_Two years had passed, and Claire hadn't forgotten what she'd been through in the alleyway. Her mother had been managing decently, and hadn't resorted to selling Claire, but times were getting worse. Her mother looked like a skeleton painted over with a sheet of skin, with dark bags under her puffy eyes, and a thinning layer of hair. The slightest touch made the woman tremble. She was twenty nine years old, but appeared as if she could have been seventy. An older man had passed them on the street one day, smoking a cigar under his rough gray moustache as he strolled along. He stopped a few moments afterwards, and turned around. He stooped down and whispered something to the mother, to which she replied back "Only the mouth, Monsieur." She mouthed an "I'm sorry," as he grabbed ten year old Claire's hand and took her back to a dark corner. She didn't want to do this again, once was enough, but she knew her mother needed the money. Silently, she complied, and after he had left and paid his twenty francs, Claire spat as many times as she could, eventually emptying the contents of her stomach onto the ground. The child shivered the whole way home._

"I don't know what to say about this, Claire. I just… I'm so sorry to have ever doubted you, I feel _terrible_," he replied in a hushed voice. He was telling the truth, and being incredibly sincere. He remembered the first time he'd come across Claire, and though the memory was vague, he didn't ever want to forget it.

_There had been a scheduled concert at Elizabeth Letellier's concert hall; Malo de Vigny was to be playing "La rose et l'Abeille" as a violin solo, accompanied by Elizabeth herself. Justine had dragged Basile and Alois to the performance, which they had expected. She had been holding an affair with Malo for quite a while, and not only did she want to see him, she wanted to rub their potential engagement under Elizabeth's nose. Elizabeth was Malo's other lover, and Justine often complained about her when she had the chance. The show started, and Malo hobbled out onto the stage, his posture very uncomfortable, and his hands shaking. He appeared ill, and his behavior caused the audience to hush. Elizabeth looked quite concerned from behind her piano, but she couldn't do anything about it. Malo put his violin up on his shoulder, and ripped the bow down the strings a few times, invoking disgusted chatter throughout the audience. One man stood up from his seat, and cupped his hands over his mouth._

"_What the hell!? This is not La rose et l'Abeille!" he shouted, and the crowd booed at Malo, who dropped his violin to the stage._

"_If you want a show, get up here and play yourselves a fucking show!" he slurred, raising a hand and waving it above his head once, before letting his arm collapse. Elizabeth stood up, clearly disturbed._

"_Monsieur de Vigny, this is not appropriate behavior, you're at a performance!" she yelled, and he spun around and rolled his eyes at her. _

"_Shut up, woman! All you're good for is sex!" he shouted, and the audience gasped in shock. Elizabeth's eyes grew wide. A man in the audience stood up and shouted boos at Malo, which caused him to face the crowd again. Without much hesitation, he shouted "Fuck you, you don't know music!" and flippantly flung his bow at the crowd, nearly striking the man across the face. After the bow had left his hand, Malo collapsed on stage from his intoxication. Basile and Alois got up from their seats around Justine, who had remained calm throughout Malo's horrific display of drunkenness. They got up on stage, and Basile hoisted Malo up over his shoulder and walked off, Alois trailing behind like a dog. Behind the stage, a young woman with long light brown hair and a childishly beautiful face was standing in wait._

"_Oh Monsieur, thank you so very much for helping clear the stage of Monsieur de Vigny, I have no idea how he got into the alcohol before he went to play…" she squeaked, helping stand Malo up as Basile dropped him from his shoulder as he began to come to his senses. "I ought to take him to his and… uh, his room. He needs some rest, I'm sure," she finished, and Basile smiled._

"_It was no trouble, Mademoiselle. I do hope Malo doesn't get too much negative attention over today," he answered, and walked off to meet Justine._

After having been with a woman as cruel as Justine, Basile had found himself losing trust in women in general. Of course he had been hesitant to talk to Claire about his deep inner thoughts, and he showed it as well, but he started to trust her quickly. Claire was truly an innocent person, and Basile learned that she wouldn't do anything to hurt him. He knew that he had strong feelings for Claire, but wasn't sure how to handle them. He was afraid that if she were to begin a relationship with him, that he would slip up and strike her, and he'd never be able to forgive himself for that.

"Basile, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten off topic and dragged my past into this," she spoke, her words squeaking with tears. Basile reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, leaning in and kissing her gently upon the forehead. She threw her arms around his neck and let her tears fall, not caring about appearing stronger than she was. Basile was slightly stunned, but eventually brought his hands down, one upon her back, the other against her hair. "I'm sorry, Monsieur," she whispered against his neck as her body trembled. Basile held her for comfort, feeling truly sympathetic for the maid.

"Don't be sorry, Claire. I shouldn't have been so rude. You deserve better," he replied, and before he knew it, she had kissed him. It took him a moment to fully comprehend the feeling, but it hit him soon enough, and he placed his hands on the sides of her face and kissed her back. They must have had their mouths pressed together for a minute, before Basile finally broke the kiss. "I don't think you want to do this," he muttered. She kissed him quickly on the nose, and then buried her head against his neck.

"I know you had a rough past with Justine, and I must admit that it does scare me a little bit. I just love you so very much. You're the only person I trust enough to tell anything to, and I just… You mean so much to me Monsieur," she squeaked, and he was truly shocked. He knew that he was in love with her, and he was well aware that she saw him with romantic eyes as well. He knew that he could hurt her, but he knew that he could help her as well.

"Are you sure you trust me, Mademoiselle? I love you far too much to let you hurt," he spoke, and she nodded.

"More than anything. Now, I think we can manage this," she replied, and kissed him again. Claire had never loved anybody before, the way she loved Basile. She could see that in character, he was much better than he was judged. Basile had never loved anyone, either, and he wasn't used to the feeling, but he welcomed it with open arms, the same way he welcomed Claire.

His kiss felt stranger against her throat than it did over her mouth. The short stubble on his face scratched against her skin, but she didn't mind it one bit. Of course she was scared; she'd known sex to be a thing of pure greed, and selfishness. She was unable to think of it as _love_ before, due to watching her mother and Elizabeth fall victim to the desire of men. However each time that Basile's lips brushed against the skin of her neck, she found herself wanting to give in more. His fingertips found their way to the neckline of her dress, and she shuddered as he pushed the fabric slightly downwards. "Please," she squeaked, "Be careful with me." She could hear him promise that he would be as gentle as he knew to be. He wouldn't dream of anything less.

* * *

_Basile Giroux had never made love to a woman; he'd only had sex with one, and she'd not only taken his virginity, but his eyesight and his dignity as well. Claire Pruitt had never even had sex, but she'd been forced into vile acts on the streets for her mother to remain financially stable. By the end of the night, as the two lie next to each other, tangled in each other's arms, they had both truly made love for the first time. Not lust or sudden desire, but love. Even they knew that eventually, they'd have to put the past behind them. She knew that Elizabeth, if she found out, would be disgusted with Basile. Claire didn't mind, as long as she still had him. Claire now knew what it was to be in love, and she was grateful of that._

_For once, she would be washing the passion out of her own sheets instead of Elizabeth's, and for once, she was perfectly okay with that._

**Author's Note: Hey everyone! So, sorry for the spoilers, but I had to upload this, it was too cute to resist! Yes, I paired Claire and Basile, and I love them together very much! I felt like posting this, so here it is. Wagon Wheels will be updated by next Monday, I promise! Read, review, tell your friends, and until next time, adieu!**


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